Drinking Salted Water
by L. C. Darius
Summary: Kissing is like drinking salted water. You drink, and your thirst increases. Chinese Proverb. A series of short kisses written for a challenge on the P/C Fanfiction Archive.
1. Shower

She typically showered alone. They had learned early on that it was the best way to ensure their timely arrival on duty shifts. But today, he couldn't have resisted even if he had wanted to.

All through their meal he had been entranced, aroused by her every move. Few words had passed between them. She had been content to simply eat in silence. In all fairness, she had probably known he was watching her, but that hadn't stopped him.

As his eyes roved over her, his imagination had run wild. In his mind, it was not the rim of the coffee cup her lips caressed but the side of his mouth not quite brushing it fully, not her fingertip she scraped her teeth over to remove a stray bit of butter and jam but his, not the cold metal of the spoon her tongue ran up as she ate the last of her cup of yogurt, but the side of his neck.

He could almost feel the roughness of her taste buds against his sensitive skin. And he _could_ smell her shampoo. The scent brought him back to reality and he moved to the shower. A puff of steam hit him as he pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.

Her back was to him. If she had felt the rush of cold air as he had trespassed, she made no sign. His hand went to her waist and she turned, gasping slightly. But the desire in her eyes belied her surprise. Now convinced she was taunting him, he decided it was time to turn the tables. Now he was the one doing the tempting. Moist, dense air filled his lungs as he walked her until her back was pressed to the cold tile wall, his free hand on the wall beside her ear.

The other moved from her waist to her hair, the slickness of the shampoo working its way between his knuckles. Briefly he let his breath tickle the nape of her neck and upwards towards her ear. He pulled back. His lips hovered just above hers, and he stopped. He waited, letting the tension build and build. Finally, at last, just as he had wanted to do all morning, he lowered his mouth to hers.


	2. Glasses

The words on the page before her were blurring together. This wasn't working. She was supposed to start rehearsals in a week, but the words just weren't sticking. Her temples pounded and her eyes were throbbing along with the tempo. A sight of frustration escaped her lips.

"Hmm?" In the light from the bedside lamp, a cloud of dust escaped from Jean-Luc's book as he closed it. The sheets rustled as he turned to face her, his short sea grey robe falling open to expose his chest as he rested his head on his hand.

"I can't get it right," Beverly lamented. "I can't get the character to come through. Maybe I should just turn in for the night. It's giving me a headache."

There was a soft "thunk" as her PADD settled on the nightstand, a click as the light from her side of the room was extinguished. She heard Jean-Luc make a soft noise in his throat. Her questioning gaze was met with a gesture to his zygomatic. Mirroring the action, she found the wire rim of the reading glasses she had begun wearing as a prop. Appalled, she had found that her vision improved drastically with them and they had since become part of her nightly reading ritual.

Smiling sheepishly at him, she removed the glasses, setting them atop the PADD with a light click.

"I am getting old, aren't I?" Jean-Luc's gaze was intense, full of wonder and it implored her own not to depart from it. A disbelieving sound left him. "I am. First the eyesight, now the memory."

"You can't be getting old." He nuzzled her cheek with his nose as he spoke, the vibrations from his voice tickling her.

"Why is that?"

"Because if you're getting old, I am old. And I won't stand for that."

She had intended to reply, but a kiss to her chin silenced her. Another to the tip of her nose and her eyes fell shut. A soft one to the underside of her jaw and her hand tightened around the base of his neck. One to her temple and one hand was at his waist, untying the sash of his robe. Finally, a gentle kiss to her lips elicited a sigh. Her fingers closed around the sidepiece of the spectacles and his mouth left hers just long enough for a short demand to escape before returning in full force.

"No. Leave them on."


	3. Life

The cabin was silent, save the gentle hum of the ship's engines, the whispering of rumpled bedsheets, and sporadic, soft gasps and hisses of released breath. Pale starlight shone in through the viewport, casting a hazy light over the bedroom.

As Jean-Luc's weight shifted, the bed creaked ever so slightly. The sound was masked by a soft whimper from his wife as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, moving upwards from where he knelt. His mouth burned a path up her hip to her waist, the curve of a breast, and finally to her shoulder.

Her fingers dug into his back, kneading the sinewy muscle beneath his warm, damp skin. Her body cried out for him to kiss her fully and he did, as though her thoughts were his own.

She could smell him, smell what he did to her, the combined scents of their straining bodies threatening to overwhelm her already-struggling control. His tongue left no part of her mouth untouched, lingering in all the right places: along the base of her molars, the inner edge of her upper lip, the side of her own tongue, the furrow on the hard palate at the roof of her mouth. As air became a concern he pulled away, their eyes meeting as he did.

And then, they stopped. For a moment, time ceased to be a force acting upon them. In this one moment, in this one act, it was clear that their tumultuous past, their present, and their hopeful future were inextricably linked. Here, four years ago they had consummated their relationship, and here a month ago they had conceived their daughter. It was here that they would share the moments to come, equally vital moments that they could not yet imagine.

As Beverly looked into Jean-Luc's eyes, the contrast in their hazel irises amplified by the starlight, she knew that the connection between the two of them, what they were doing, and their child had solidified. And she knew that he knew it, too.

His gaze dropped from hers as he moved his head back down her body, now with a very different intention than the last time he had traced this path. He paused just below her navel and she felt his lips press against her bare skin. She marveled at the fact that the same lips which had so recently ravished hers were now showing such tender reverence to their child.

Her eyes closed and she lay back on the bed, a hand caressing his bare scalp. There would be time later for making love.


	4. Porch

The unmistakable scent of wet earth filled Jean-Luc's nostrils as he took a deep breath, letting it out in a contented sigh. Shutting his book, he closed his eyes and listened to the pattering of rain on the muddy ground of the vineyard, its presence a constant, but its rhythm every-changing. A cool breeze blew through the damp air, jostling the porch swing he occupied.

Next to him, Beverly stirred. He had been reading to her until she had fallen asleep stretched out next to him, her head in his lap. Now she sat up, blinking sleepily and running her hand through her hair. In the humidity it had curled wildly. He loved it. She turned to him and smiled. He loved her. God help him, he loved her. There wasn't a thing he could do about it and there wasn't a thing he wanted to.

She stretched and settled against him again, adjusting the blanket which had slipped from around their bodies. In her attempt to get comfortable, she pulled his free arm around her waist, resting his hand on her ribs.

The rightness of the whole situation pervaded every fiber of his being. After years of feeling so wrong about his love for her, Jean-Luc felt a peace he hadn't known was possible. She was his, and he hers. And tomorrow, the world would know. After tomorrow, no one would be able to separate them.

Under the blanket, her fingers intertwined themselves with his. The metal band of her engagement ring pressed between his knuckles, reminding him subtly that this was real. Tomorrow, the woman of his dreams would become his wife. _Tomorrow_. The word rung in his head like some kind of joyful mantra.

He felt her eyes on him and looked down at her. She was still smiling, and reached up, pulling his head down to hers. As her lips met his tenderly, sweetly, and a sense of utter tranquility rushed through him. There was time for rushing and preparing and nervousness later. For now, they would enjoy their last few quiet moments before things changed forever. Beverly pulled back from their kiss.

"Keep reading," she asked. He simply nodded and opened the worn volume in his lap.

"Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea…"


	5. Cave

She didn't know how it had started.

One minute she had been shivering, seated against the damp, mossy cave wall. Frowning, she had shifted her weight awkwardly in an attempt to keep the moisture which coated the rock surrounding her from seeping into her uniform. The dank, musty scent of the stale cave air tickled her nose and she had sneezed loudly.

The weight of his jacket over her shoulders had been unexpected, as had the sudden warmth of his body pressing on her side. Questioningly, she had looked over at him.

"Conserving body heat." At that, she had quirked an eyebrow. It had caused a surge of pain to shoot up towards her scalp. His hand had lightly brushed over the sensitive area and she had winced at the sensation. Rust-coloured blood had flaked onto his middle finger. She hadn't realized that she was bleeding. Briefly she wondered if the cave-in had caused any other physical damage.

And then, suddenly, she had found his lips moving against, no, with hers . It was a lovely sensation, his mouth softly accosting hers, making small advances with each passing moment. The pain from her head and the hardness of the rock beneath her and the coldness and the darkness faded away into the background. All that mattered was that he continue. And continue he did, his tongue making teasing forays into the alien territory of her mouth.

"Body heat?" she asked quickly in a pause for air. "Somehow I don't think you'd be this concerned about it if you were stuck down here with Worf."

His laughter vibrated against her throat as his tongue made small circles against the exposed flesh. She couldn't help but smile until her mouth was again otherwise occupied.

Again, the clammy rock of the cave was against her back, but this time, she didn't mind in the least.


	6. Paint

She wasn't sure when, but sometime in the past few hours, their spare bedroom had begun to look less like a starship and more like a nursery. The beige bulkheads were now in the process of becoming a nice happy green. The floor was covered in a white canvas tarp and their living room was cramped awkwardly with the sturdy cherry-wood furniture they had picked up while on Earth last week.

With each swish of her paint roller, the reality what the journey they were embarking on hit her. As though he knew she was thinking of him, their son shifted within her, reminding her gently that he was there and that he was his own little person. She smiled at the sensation. When she had been pregnant with Wesley, she had wished Jack could have been around more to share moments like this with her. Consequently, she loved Jean-Luc even more for the active role he was taking in this pregnancy.

She groaned softly as she rose from where she had been squatting rather ungracefully to paint a low corner. As their son grew, Beverly found that her natural control over her body had waned. Her back crackled nastily as she attempted bending backwards a bit to decompress her squashed discs. While she was trying to straighten up, she felt a tickle on the side of her neck.

Jean-Luc's lips parted against her tender flesh and she raised her shoulder to her ear. Her skin had become sensitive lately and the soft touch tickled. He increased the pressure of his lips and tongue and she relaxed her muscles, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back further.

That was her mistake. No sooner had she let herself go than she felt something cold, wet, and sticky on her cheek. A sharp gasp left her and she pulled back, bringing a hand up. Her fingers were green where they had touched her face. Laughing disbelievingly she backed away.

"That was sneaky!" she exclaimed. The grin on his face was a rare sight and it put her in an equally playful mood. Still laughing, she hefted her paint roller menacingly.

"Oh, no. Beverly, that's not fair. All I've got is a paintbrush!"

"It's not my fault you insisted that you had to be the one to do the trim." She moved towards him, dripping paint as she went. Suddenly she pounced. In an effort to block himself, Jean-Luc ducked and lashed out with his brush. When they pulled apart, the top of his scalp was green, and Beverly had a new highlight in her hair.

She hadn't seen him like this in years. This baby had changed him, changed both of them. He had put things in perspective. Since they had found out they were pregnant, it was as though they were seeing the world in a new light, and this playfulness was just a part of it. Beverly's hours in sickbay had gone down, Jean-Luc made better efforts make it home on time from the bridge. They were making a family and suddenly that was most important.

More paint interrupted her musing. Jean-Luc's attacks were merciless. She had to find a way to distract him, so she did the only thing that she knew for a fact could stop him in his tracks.

Her lips fitted themselves perfectly to his with an alacrity that surprised even her. Against her, his body stiffened, then he pulled her to him, at least as close to him as their son would allow. They moved in coordinated opposition to one another, each parrying the advances of one another's lips and tongue with an ability that could only come with experience and knowledge. The paintbrush fell to the floor, her roller lying forgotten beside it. Yes, Beverly thought, this baby had changed them. But there was no doubt in her mind that it was for the better. If this was what their future held, she couldn't wait.


	7. Nap

Their quarters were dark as he entered. Early that morning, they had arranged to meet back here for lunch, but Beverly was nowhere to be found. He called out her name, walking from the living area into their bedroom. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her. He knew it had been a long night, but he couldn't help smiling at the fact that she was asleep on their bed.

She had barely taken the time to remove her uniform, he saw, for she was wearing one of his t-shirts over her bra and underwear. His stomach rumbled and he wondered whether he should wake her. A nap was out of character for her, anyway. He wondered if perhaps she wasn't feeling well.

The bed creaked as he sat upon it. Just as went to put his hand down on the mattress, he became aware of a large mass under the blankets beside his wife. As he pulled the comforter back a bit, everything fell into place.

He had been sound asleep the night before. His body had expecting another several hours of sleep before his shift began and it was sorely disappointed to be awoken by a soft sound from beside his bed. Drowsily, he had sat up to find Adele, his younger daughter, tugging slightly at his nightshirt.

"Papa, my stomach hurts."

"Are you going to be sick, Addie?" Beverly's sleep-fogged voice had come from the opposite side of the bed. The small girl had shaken her head no, so Jean-Luc had picked her up and placed her in bed between Beverly and himself, rubbing her back until she had dozed off. He had almost been fully asleep again when he heard crying from the next room. Wearily, he had gotten up from his bed, leaving Addie and Beverly to sleep.

He had stumbled sleepily to his daughters' room and found Felisa, their older child, curled into a ball on her bed, her red hair sweaty and sticking to her forehead. Fear and concern had gripped his heart, vice-like, at the sight. Even now he wasn't certain how he had managed, but somehow he had gotten Felisa out of bed, and woken his wife.

Several hours later, all four had returned from sickbay, sleep-deprived, muscles knotted, and less one inflamed appendix. The surgery hadn't been anything major, but Jean-Luc wasn't sure that he'd been more afraid in his life. After all, this wasn't just anyone who was sick. It had been his little girl. In the five years since he had become a father, he'd been extraordinarily luck: neither of his children had been sick, at least not like that before. He'd been entirely unprepared for the experience, the utter helplessness he had felt.

But, he reflected as he lifted the comforter to find all three of his girls sleeping soundly, it had turned out alright. All was well, and he was thankful for that.

He pulled off his boots and slipped under the covers as well. He really should get back to the bridge, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Tenderly, he pressed a kiss to both his children's foreheads in turn, then to Beverly's. Beneath his touch, she stirred, opening her blue eyes sleepily to look at him.

"Jean-Luc. Lunch! I'm sorry, I must have dozed off." Beverly's voice was thick with drowsiness.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep," he urged. She nodded and closed her eyes.

"I was proud of you last night, you know. You were wonderful." Jean-Luc was certain that Beverly wouldn't remember this conversation when she was fully awake, but he had to smile at the sentiment all the same. "I'm glad we did this. You've come so far. You really are a magnificent father. Our girls are lucky to have you."

His heart soared at the confession. Being a father, being a husband was the single greatest accomplishment of his life and he could think of no better praise than Beverly's approval. Leaning over his sleeping daughters, he lowered his lips gently to his wife's. Even in her sleep, she kissed him back softly. As he pulled back and settled under the covers, he smiled peacefully. Perhaps he could do with a nice nap. The bridge could wait.


	8. Bridge

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound her footfalls as she traced a meandering path through the ruined bridge. Light from the Veridian sun streamed through the shattered ceiling above and she could feel the cool metal of a console as she dragged her fingertips across it. It was worse than she had expected. The lower decks had taken quite a bit of damage from the crash, but this… Consoles were twisted unnaturally, strewn about. Her stomach twisted at the sight of Jean-Luc's chair upended.

It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the ready room. She couldn't help but have her eyes drawn to the black, twisted patch of bulkhead that had once been the door. Debris littered the floor.

Jean-Luc sat in his desk chair, dejected and unresponsive. He didn't look up as she came towards him.

"All the casualties have been transported to the Farragut's sickbay. Everyone's stable. I thought you might want to know." Her voice sounded foreign as it resonated in the ravages of what had once been a nicely kept room. He made no response to her information, thoughtfully ferried from the remains of his sickbay.

Silence passed between them for a few moments before she again spoke, her voice softer this time.

"Where's Livingston?" she asked gently, gesturing to the darkened fish tank as she sat herself gingerly on the edge of his desk.

"I've got him in a tank ready to beam to the Farragut with the rest of my things. I found him trying to keep wet in a few inches of water." The timbre of his voice was rougher than usual, more gravelly, as though he hadn't used it in quite a while. Beverly wondered how long he had been sitting here.

As she perched on his desk and looked around, Beverly realized that this was the last time she would be doing so. The last time she would come to visit this ready room. It held so many memories. Late night insomnia-induced conversations, heart-to-heart chats about personal matters, heated arguments, and more close calls on the romantic front than she was willing to admit.

The last days had been difficult for Jean-Luc. He had lost a brother, a nephew, and now his ship. But the look in his eyes was not one of despair, or even sorrow, but of nostalgia. It seemed that he too was considering the history this room held. Unexpectedly, a glint of inspiration lit his eyes. He looked up at her.

"Beverly?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"There's something I've always wanted to do and I'm realizing that this is my last shot at it. Care to indulge an old man?"

She nodded, a questioning half-smile gracing her lips. He rose and took her hand, leading her through the rubble on the floor and out onto the bridge, just in front of the command chair. They stood opposite one another, faces even. She was beginning to have an idea of what all this was about and her heart sped up in anticipation. Though she would never admit it to a living soul, she'd fantasized about this as well.

His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer. She saw his head begin to tilt and move towards hers, felt his warm breath. Then his lips were tenderly prying hers apart, his tongue was moving rhythmically against hers, her hands on his shoulders, around his neck, her fingers in the sparse hair at the back of his head, caressing his ears, running along his back. He wedged his leg ever so slightly between hers and kissed her like she'd never had him kiss her before. It wasn't a desperate kiss. Passionate, but not urgent. It was…perfect. A perfect moment seared into their memories. A moment of hope and goodness amidst destruction.

They stood that way for quite some time, unwilling to let the moment end, but ultimately, they had to pull away. But when they broke apart, a sense of peace and acceptance filled the air, replacing the desolation that had indwelt the space. Both had work left to do before they could abandon ship for the final time, but it could now be accomplished with a new strength. They had their closure. It was time to move on. Together.


	9. Forestalling

In years to come, Beverly would wonder how far things would have gone had they not been interrupted. After long, perfect, wonderful, awfully tension-laden dinners, she would lie in her bed and replay the whole incident, wonder how things would be now if they had continued then. She would close her eyes, lie back, and simply re-live the moment.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jean-Luc had been sleeping in her guest room on Starbase 32 for three weeks. It had been three weeks since he and his crew from the Stargazer had staggered back home after the loss of their ship. Beverly didn't think she had ever been more relieved in her life. She couldn't handle losing Jack and Jean-Luc in the same year- that she knew.

They had all settled into an easy, if not entirely comfortable cycle. Beverly and Wesley carried on as usual, and Picard had fit himself into that, all the while careful not to become too at ease, to make himself too at home. Beverly supposed it was in homage to Jack. She noticed that Jean-Luc made extra efforts to ensure that he did not tread on Jack's memory while staying with his late friend's wife and son.

The lights were dim in the research lab. Beverly stretched, rubbing her neck and pulling back from her microscope. She had been working on these virus protein coats for Dr. Quaice for hours and her mind had drifted to Jean-Luc. Tomorrow was the last day of his court martial. As far as she knew, things were difficult. Phillipa Louvois, the prosecuting attorney, had been ruthless, opening all sorts of wounds that Jean-Luc had just begun to let heal. Beverly suspected that the two had once been lovers, but Jean-Luc hadn't spoken of their past. He was fiercely afraid that the outcome would not be in his favor, though he would never admit it.

Beverly turned to glance at the clock, but found herself face-to-face with a haggard, despondent Jean-Luc. She gasped slightly in surprise, though it quickly faded when she saw his face.

"Jean-Luc! What's wrong?" His eyes were red and she had never seen him so defeated.

"She's gotten me, Beverly. That damned woman, she's going to take it all." He spoke softly, no inflection in his voice. It frightened Beverly. Jean-Luc was so strong, so resilient. Now, though, he looked broken. "I'm through, Beverly."

Her stomach twisted at seeing him this way. She stepped closer to him, bringing her arms around his shoulders. She brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "It's alright, Jean-Luc, it's alright. Everything will be fine."

It had been her intention to comfort him, but a strangled, anguished groan escaped his throat at her words. Her lips pressed against his ear and she tightened her arms around him. Another groan came from his chest and she gently grabbed the side of his head and touched her mouth to his, again attempting to console him. Over and over, she brought their lips together until finally, something changed. She found that she was no longer kissing him because he was hurting, but because it felt wonderful to do so. It had been so long since she'd had this, since she'd felt this.

Jean-Luc's body had stiffened against her when she'd put her arms around him, but now it was rubbing against hers rhythmically. His hands were grasping at her back and his mouth was working frantically, desperately against hers.

Beverly pulled back for a moment to catch her breath, but Jean-Luc clutched her back to him, taking advantage of her open mouth to begin exploring with his tongue. His fingers were in her hair, the clasp holding it up discarded on the floor.

She felt the edge of her work desk pressing into her lower back, but she didn't care. All she wanted was Jean-Luc to keep doing what he was doing. Her lab coat dropped to the floor and her fingers closed around the clasp of his uniform collar. The nimble digits were struggling with the closure when she heard a noise behind in the outer part of the lab. Jean-Luc had heard it, too. They backed quickly away from one another, straightening uniforms and hair and Wesley entered, back from school.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

As Beverly lay in bed, the memory again came back to her. It was rare that she let herself dwell on the incident, but tonight she did. She remembered his face, his desperation, and the kiss. Oh, she remembered the kiss. Most often, her recollections stopped there, but tonight she let it continue. Wesley had come in, told them about his school day, and all three had readied themselves to return home. As Wesley had rushed out ahead of them, Jean-Luc had pulled her close again and planted a gentle kiss to her forehead.

At the time, it had seemed a goodbye, but now, Beverly realized, it wasn't, really. She turned over in her bed and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. It had been a goodbye, she supposed, but not for good. That kiss had simply been to tide them over, nothing more than a taste of what their future held. She sighed, knowing that one day, perhaps one day soon, they would both be ready for that. With that thought occupying her mind, she let herself drift into a restful sleep.


	10. Goodbye

The familiar shapes of Earth's continents below swirls of white clouds drifted past the ready room window. It had been a year since he'd seen them and now he was not pleased to be doing so. He was losing his Chief Medical Officer and he was damned unhappy about it. Dr. Crusher was the most experienced and talented doctors he'd worked with in years, perhaps ever.

That wasn't all that bothered him, though, no matter how much he had tried to convince himself otherwise. He was losing a friend. After Jack had died, he had lost Beverly as well for a long time. Granted, that had been his fault, but he'd only just gotten her back and she was leaving again. Starfleet Medical was a wonderful opportunity for her, he told himself, and he should be happy for her. Truth be told, he was. That didn't change the fact, however, that he was losing the one person on the ship who was truly an equal. Beverly didn't treat him as her captain. She had known him far too long for that. It fascinated him that she wasn't afraid of him, didn't worship him or fear him as so many of his crew did. She spoke her mind to him.

He sighed heavily. This was going to be harder than he thought. She was scheduled to beam down shortly. It was time for him to meet her in the transporter room. Wearily, he moved from his window, uncrossing his hands from behind his back and balling them into fists as he walked.

His breath caught in his throat as he entered Transporter Room three. It had been ages since he'd seen her in anything but a uniform. She was gorgeous. He didn't know what he wanted to look at more: her hair, pulled partly back, a few wisps falling around her face, her legs, dancer's legs that seemed never to end, her collar bones, their curves visible in the neckline of the long cardigan she wore unbuttoned, her mouth, her eyes. He couldn't look away. He hardly noticed Chief O'Brien scoot past him and out the door, giving his captain a few moments of privacy.

"I wasn't sure you were going to make it in time to say goodbye."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything." She stepped towards him, smiling sadly.

"I am going to miss you, Jean-Luc. It's been quite a year." Jean-Luc's heart tightened. He wasn't at all prepared for this. Beverly had become such a part of his life: a friend, a confidant, a sounding-board. He wasn't ready to give that up. "Keep an eye on Wesley while he's still here for me?"

"Of course."

"And stay safe out there."

"Always. Commander Riker will see to that." They smiled. Will Riker was a mother hen and they both knew it.

"I suppose that's it, then, isn't it?" Jean-Luc had been dreading this. There was no more excuse for her to stay any longer. He would have to say goodbye. "Don't be a stranger. I expect to hear from you."

His heart raced as Beverly drew closer. Her hand moved to rest on his shoulder blade and she leaned towards him. Until the moment their lips met, he didn't truly believe it was going to happen. His eyes closed and his hand drifted to rest lightly on her waist. There was no movement in the kiss, just slight pressure, the warmth of her lips on his, the reality of the skin-to-skin contact. Their mouths interlocked and fit just as he'd always imagined they would, perhaps better, and he wished he could live out a lifetime in that one moment. Inevitably, however, she pulled back, but their lips clung slightly as she did so, prolonging the kiss ever so slightly.

He sighed and kept his eyes closed for a moment. Once he opened them, he found that Beverly had turned and stepped back up onto the transporter. She met his eyes and gave him a sad, almost apologetic smile, as though saying she wished she didn't have to go. But she did, and Chief O'Brien's entry reminded him of that. Sighing again, he quirked a questioning eyebrow at her and received a nod in return. Without turning to the Chief, he gave the order.

"Energize."


	11. Meld

He was hot, so hot. So very hot and so, so angry. The heat and the anger and the raging torrent of emotions boiled within him, threatening to spill over at any moment. He was in agony, utter agony and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He felt as though he were going to explode, as though each wave of emotion that washed through him would be more than he could handle. Anger, grief, pain, unimaginable sorrow-all raced through his mind, his body, his soul. He felt himself crying, screaming, blurting out deep, dark, innermost secrets. Sarek's? His own? He couldn't be sure. They were pouring out of him with such intensity that he couldn't comprehend them.

His body shook, wracked by anguished sobs until it physically ached. The sensations were coming in large swells, one after the other, but they rested on a constant underpinning of…love. Passionate, overwhelming, all-consuming love. Picard could feel Sarek's love for Amanda, for Perrin, for Spock. But each and every one of Sarek's emotions, each memory brought up Picard's own emotional history. His own guilt, anger, and pain were echoed back in his mind, and his love for the woman sitting across from his was as real as anything he was receiving through the mind meld, reverberating through his being stronger than ever, intensified by alien passions.

Gasping through his sobs, he looked up at her. Something deep within him told him that he needed her help. Almost as though something else was driving him, he reached for Beverly's hand. Her skin was such a relief just to touch; it was so cool against his own feverish digits. Desperately, he extended his index and middle fingers and pressed them to hers. Relief coursed through him. But he needed more, needed her to do more. Prompting her, showing her how, though he wasn't entirely sure how himself, he ran his fingers over the tops of her knuckles, down the back of her hand, around her wrist.

His eyes met hers, pleading her to return the gesture. Slowly, uncertainly, she did, her strong fingers running almost tenderly over his heated skin, past his thick knuckles. Her nails scraped against the overly-warm flesh. It was all his brain could do to process the sensations. As she continued, her touch grew bolder, more certain. His breath came in short, harsh gasps, raking over his parched throat.

Compulsively, he moved his hand, grasping hers and lifting it with unexpected gentleness to his gaze. His eyes roved over the long, slender fingers, surgeon's fingers. Her hands were delicate, yet strong. The more he looked, the more enthralled he became, the more his love for her bubbled to the forefront.

Spurred on, he let her hand drop from his and lifted his fingers to her lips. Ever so gently, he touched the tips to her mouth, resting there for a moment. Slowly, he probed the soft skin, gently working against her. Some part of his brain registered her hand tightening on his knee as her eyes shut and her mouth began to move against his fingers, kissing him back.

They stayed that way for some time. Finally, he pulled back and watched her. She stayed motionless for the briefest of seconds, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, head tilted back a fraction of a degree. Jean-Luc felt his body raging out of control, his emotions reaching dangerous heights. As Beverly let out a soft sigh, so in contrast to the storm brewing within Picard, his turmoil reached a peak and he collapsed into her, tears running freely down his face, sobs coming uncontrollably.


	12. Reception

The house was eerily calm. Through its empty rooms the sound of cheerful conversations and the clinking of silver utensils on ceramic plates echoed softly. In the wake of the ceremony, the guests had retired to the front courtyard of the house and were happily caught up in the celebratory atmosphere of the reception. Though they weren't terribly missed in the commotion, the bride and groom were no where to be found.

In reality, they had managed to slip away from their well-meaning guests for a few moments of peace and quiet. The servants' door to the kitchen swung quietly open.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" Jean-Luc asked conspiratorially, placing a hand on the small of his new wife's back and following her through the door. She walked to the window and peeked out, standing on her toes to see better. Her long red hair brushed along her back, just below the top of her ivory dress.

"I don't think so." She turned and smiled at him, walking towards him deliberately. A rush of desire washed through Jean-Luc. He took a step closer to Beverly and pulled her to him, arms tightly around her waist. She smiled briefly before grabbing the sides of his head and pressed her lips to his. Normally Jean-Luc would not allow himself this in such a public place, but today was different. He had been married for the better part of an hour and was fully prepared to take advantage of the situation.

The mere though that Beverly was now his wife elicited a fierce ache in him, an irrepressible urge to make her his physically as well. His lips worked savagely against her and hers against him. They met over and over, not hitting the mark fully each time, not caring. Jean-Luc's open mouth trailed across her jaw, over her lips, down the side of her neck, his tongue slipping out occasionally to taste her flesh. Beneath his mouth, Beverly's throat vibrated with a moan and she walked backwards towards the wall.

His trousers were stretched across his erection already, tightening with each passing moment. As they reached the wall, Beverly's hand closed around him, squeezing firmly. In response, Jean-Luc placed a hand on either side of her jaw, tilting her head back and licking a path up from between her breasts to the underside of her chin. She squeezed him again, her teeth closing around his earlobe.

He had to have her. To such an end, he began gathering the full skirt of her dress in his hands, sliding them under and pushing the fabric up around her hips. He lifted her legs around him, hands sliding past her knees, over her thighs, up her backside in search of her underwear. Venturing higher up her hips, he came to a startling realization: he couldn't find them.

It wasn't possible. In all the years he'd known Beverly, as far as he knew she _always_ wore underwear. Always. He ran his hands once more over her, just to make sure. No. They weren't there. Pulling back, he looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"Beverly?" She smiled at him, eyes still closed, breasts pressing against his chest with each gasping breath.

"It's a special occasion." He let out a short laugh, kissing her full-on. Bracing her against the wall, he ran one hand between her legs, thumb running over the wetness he felt and firmly pressing against her clitoris. She pulled her mouth from his, fingers digging into the muscled flesh where his neck and shoulders met. Her other hand began stroking him in sync with the rhythm his thumb had set, the hard metal band on her ring finger pressing against him. She licked around, then over his ear, rolling her hips into his palm. He heard her murmur something against his skin and pulled away to hear her better.

"What?" He asked, breathing heavily against her chest as he bowed his head.

"I said you should stop now if you want to wait for tonight." She was as out of breath as he and still grinding slightly against the heel of his hand. She was right. Dammit, she was right. Their first time as husband and wife should be more than a heated, rushed encounter in the kitchen of his childhood home. It had all been good fun, but now was time to stop. He exhaled heavily against her skin, kissing her lightly before he eased her legs to the ground. She moaned slightly as his hand left her, but she straightened her dress.

Laying a hand to his face, she kissed his cheek softly. As she walked away from him, Jean-Luc smiled. He was in love, he was married, and if that was any indication, he was in for one hell of a wedding night


	13. Introduction

Shivers of anticipation ran through her body, matching the vibrations of the shuttle beneath her feet. The swirl of blue, white, and brown that was Earth passed slowly by the viewport, the only sign that they were moving at all. The suspense in the artificially-generated air was tangible, almost another living being in the craft with them.

Beside her, Jean-Luc stood and walked to the window, hoping to catch an early glimpse. The excitement in his eyes was clear. It was one of the things Beverly loved about him. Whether she shared them or not, she was willing to indulge his passions in life just to see the joy they brought him: archaeology, literature, tea, but above all, his ship. Losing the Enterprise on Veridian had devasted him almost as much as losing his brother and nephew. Word of this new Enterprise had been one of the only things that had pulled him from his grief. Rene and Robert could never return, but he could have a new ship.

For months, Jean-Luc had poured over ship specifications, diagrams, blueprints, anything he could convince Starfleet to send him. He knew this Enterprise-E inside and out, but he had yet to see her in person. Until today.

Beverly had to admit that with all his talking, she was rather excited to see the ship as well. She rose and joined him, grabbing his hand and entertwining their fingers.

The shuttle slowed and began to come about. Beverly caught Jean-Luc's eye and smiled. He smiled back, but his eyes fell on something past her left ear. His soft noise of wonder made her turn.

There it was, sleek silhouette contrasted against the darkness of space, elongated saucer projecting proudly, nacelles tapering elegantly. Beverly had never been a starship afficionado. She knew what she needed to about them and spent her time studying other things. But the grandeur of the scene before her caught her off guard. For the briefest of moments, she thought she understood how Jean-Luc felt. This was going to be their home-their first home together. This ship would truly be theirs.

It often felt as though she and Jean-Luc were the parents of their little Enterprise family, now more than ever. They had a new ship to bring together, to organize, to make run smoothly. There was something epically challenging and romantic about the whole thing and the idea drew her to Jean-Luc even more.

She turned back to him, waiting a moment for him to look at her, rather than the Enterprise. Her fingers curled around his neck finally got his attention. When they met hers, his eyes bespoke all the emotions she had learned to read in him: excitement, fear, anticipation, pride, wonder, and there, beneath it all, love. He was just as enthused about starting on this journey together as she, Beverly realized.

Compelled to action, she tugged on his neck, bringing him towards her. She had only to incite the action for Jean-Luc to take over. He touched his lips tenderly, yet firmly to hers, smiling a bit into the kiss. Beverly caught his lower lip between hers, worrying it a bit with her teeth. She brushed over the sensitive, trapped flesh with her tongue before pulling back, only to return again when absence proved unsatisfying. He aped her action, his teeth sending a pang of pleasure through her, and his tongue stroked across her own.

Finally, they separated, breath coming in laboured gasps. Her forehead rested against his, both their eyes closed. The spare hair along his neck moved easily beneath her stroking fingers and a sigh passed between them. They stayed that way a few moments longer, enjoying the last minutes of quiet anticipation, the last remnants of their unjoined lives before truly embarking on this new mission.


	14. Grief

Even now, weeks later, the crepuscular air smelled of charred wood. The stench replaced the subtle scent of wet earth and plants that usually filled the air this time of year. Somehow, its absence was fitting, though. The tender of the vines was gone, it seemed only right that the vines themselves should mourn his absence.

Beverly Crusher felt the mud squelch beneath her shoes as she left the paved drive in front of the house and she wished she was wearing her boots. A breeze chilled her and she pulled the shawl she wore closer around her shoulders.

The skeletal remains of the barn loomed on the horizon, still seeming to smouldering in the scant fog. Beverly knew that was impossible. Another shudder ran down her spine nonetheless, this one entirely unrelated to the odd weather.

As she approached, she saw him standing there, head bowed, in the center of the ruined structure. It had been a difficult day for Jean-Luc. He had made it through Robert's eulogy with difficulty, but Rene's had taken its toll. Anyone who did not know Jean-Luc would have seen a man in extreme grief over the death of his nephew. Beverly knew, though, that his lack of composure was a sign of how near to his breaking point he'd been stretched.

"I don't want company right now, Beverly." His voice was gravelly, hoarse from lack of use, from grief, from the acrid stench around him. She knew he didn't mean what he said. Kneeling beside him in the muck, she placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He shook it off, standing. "It's not fair. It shouldn't have happened!"

Dropping the handful of dirt he clutched in his hand, Jean-Luc pressed his lips together and looked around himself at the building around him. Sorrow flashed across his face, followed by anger. The more he stared, his anger turned to rage.

"Dammit!" he shouted. "Dammit, it isn't fair!"

An anguished roar let loose from his chest and he swung his fist at the blackened remains of what had once been a door post. The rage in his shout turned to physical pain and Beverly heard the cracking of his knuckles against the wood. He sank to his knees, holding his injured hand. Ignoring the mud, she crawled over to him. Tears filled his eyes, but he wasn't going to shed them. Beverly knew that.

She reached out to him and took his hand in hers. The fine hairs on the back of his hand tickled her palm and his thumb settled between two of her fingers. The pad of her thumb brushed across the deep gashes scored into his knuckles and breath hissed through his teeth.

"It hurts like hell," she said simply. "And it's going to. But it _will_ heal."

In the darkening night, his eyes shone, neither green nor grey nor brown nor blue, but all four at once. Beverly loved him. It was rare that she let that show through, let him see, but now she would. There was no conscious decision made-simply instinct.

Raising their joined hands to her mouth, she kissed each injured knuckle. The metallic taste of the rapidly drying blood was present, but she ignored it. Moving deliberately, she placed their hands in her lap. His lips were hard, stiff beneath hers. But as she moved her flesh across his, she felt him soften and eventually he took over, sharing his raging emotions with her. Her mouth opened, his tongue gently, almost tentatively slid against hers. Their friendly, comforting kisses had never gone this far and Beverly could feel his hesitancy to invest too much of himself.

Her fingertips curled around his neck, caressing his hair, feeling the softness of it. She wondered if this was more than a friendly kiss, wondered if she wanted it to be. Perhaps their timing was right, finally. Perhaps not. At the moment, it didn't matter. If now was not the right time, that time would come. For now, this was what the needed. Their relationship was what it was. It didn't need a name- a definition only limited it. This kiss was within its scope and that was what mattered.


	15. Relief

A cool breeze blew through the trees, rustling the few wisps of hair that fell around her temples and ears. Beverly breathed deeply, the fresh air a welcome change from the dank humidity the Borg had imposed upon the Enterprise. She'd never admit it aloud, but there had been moments when she didn't think they were ever going to get off that ship alive.

Or at least in one piece. Jean-Luc had scared her up there. He hadn't been himself. Years ago, when the Borg had first turned him into Locutus, she'd been unnerved by their ability to change the innermost workings of the man she knew better than she knew herself. Once he'd recovered from the experience, she was thrilled to know the nightmare was over.

But it hadn't been. Jean-Luc had begun hearing their call again. This time, though they hadn't taken his body, she'd been afraid that they had taken his soul. The Borg did things to Jean-Luc's psyche that Beverly knew could never be erased entirely. If this experience had taught her nothing else, it had taught her that.

It had taught her about herself as well, she realized, looking up at the stars shinig brightly past the treetops above her. She hated them as much as he did. She hated them for what they had done to him. So much that when he had acted irrationally, she, his acting first officer, had done nothing to stop him. She wanted to stay and fight, to make them pay for their actions as much as Jean-Luc did.

The breeze blew across her face again, bringing her back to reality. She had come into the woods for some peace and quiet, a moment to re-group before the big moment. First Contact. Pulling her tan coat around her body more tightly, she let one hand fall to her side. Fingers slid into it, but she didn't flinch.

"I wondered where you'd gotten off to." The words only confirmed what she already knew. It was Jean-Luc. She turned to him, smiling softly. The soft, warm light of the camp was behind him, glinting off his bare head, casting his features in shadow.

"I needed to get away. Clear my head a bit. The fresh air feels nice," she explained. He nodded, pulling her towards him. As his arms enveloped her, she felt her body release the tension she hadn't even realized was present. Her head settled on his shoulder, arms around his waist. The extra bulk of their jackets was a comforting pressure against her. "I thought I'd lost you up there, you know."

"So did I," he confessed. "The more I think about it, the more I can't believe the way I behaved. I hated them _so_ much, Beverly. I didn't care who I took out with them. I just wanted them gone."

She nuzzled his neck with her nose, breathing a warm sigh against his neck. His arms tightened against her in response and she pressed a kiss to the soft skin, then another and another. Comfort had been her intention, but the subtle tingling she felt in her stomach as her mouth brushed against him changed that.

Her kissed became longer and her eyes shut. Jean-Luc was motionless, aside for the tightening of his arms around her, as though he didn't move for fear that she would stop. He grew bolder, however, when She had no intention of doing so, however.

She pulled back only for a second before he closed the distance she'd put between them. His lips were tentative against hers at first, just brushing against her. He grew bolder, however, when she did not pull away. It sent little spikes of desire through her, each stab pushing the growing mass of need deeper until it came to rest between her hips.

Without thinking, she ran her tongue along his lower lip. Unprepared, she started a bit when his touched hers, but she kept the contact. His tongue had worked its way into her mouth and was caressing the inside of her lower teeth when a noise behind them made them pull apart.

Voices came from the camp, excited, confused. Beverly met Jean-Luc's eyes and saw the same mixture of disappointment and anticipation she felt. Neither wanted to stop, but the chance to witness the history taking place was one too unique to pass up.

Jean-Luc laid a hand alongside her cheek, cupping her jaw and kissed her one more time before stepping away. She slid her hand into his and fell into step with him as they walked back to the camp. As the went, she wondered what that had all meant. Would they brush it off as a friendly encounter? One borne of the draining encounter with the Borg? Or would they let it be something more? For the first time in a very long time, something inside Beverly hoped it would be the last. She was ready to take this further, if only he was willing as well.

But they would have time to sort through that. Right now, they had an appointment with history. They had all the time in the world to make their own. For now, she would settle for experiencing this moment together.


	16. Resolve

"For quite some time, I've been meaning to say something to you. I might not have another chance." Beverly leaned towards him, resting her hand on the armrest of what used to be Will Riker's chair. She wasn't quite sure how to say this. She was sure the hesitation and uncertainty played across her face, because Jean-Luc rested a hand atop hers. He nudged his fingers between hers and rubbed his thumb across her palm, giving her the extra push she needed to continue. "Jean-Luc, you and I...oh, hell..."

This would be easier to show him, she decided. The back of his neck was warm as she curled her fingers around it. His soft, thin hair brushed against the pads of her fingers and she ran the digits through it. It was something she'd always had the urge to do and now she took advantage of the opportunity.

"Beverly?" His voice was soft, questioning, almost as though he didn't dare hope she was truly about to do what she had in mind. But she was.

She smiled at him and bent her head, angling it so they would fit together. Moving slowly, she prolonged the subtle rush of anticipation, their eyes locked until the last second. And then, finally-

He was gone. Caught off-balance without him to support her, Beverly lurched forward slightly. She stood and paced the bridge quickly, lab coat billowing behind her as she went. Her sigh of dejection as she slumped her body into the command chair echoed eerily on the empty bridge.

She had been so close to finally crossing that line with Jean-Luc_. Why, oh, why couldn't she ever really take that step? Why did she keep holding back? She was afraid._ That had always been her answer. And up until now, it had seemed like enough.

Running her fingers along the panels on the chair arm, she realized that it wasn't a good enough excuse anymore. A gut instinct told her that what she was experiencing now wasn't reality-that Jean-Luc did still exist somewhere. His disappearance had shown her, though, how quickly and easily she could lose him. For once, rather than frightening her away from furthering their relationship, that realization was urging her to take that final step. Did she really want to lose him without knowing what they could have together?

_No_. The answer resounded firmly in her head. _No._

...........................................................................................................

Her spine crackled nastily as the vortex flung her to the ground, a tangle of limbs. She rolled onto her back, brain barely taking the time to register that she was back in Engineering before a pair of hands closed around her, helping her up.

"Beverly." Tension she didn't even know she'd been holding released at the sound of his voice. She smiled at him as he helped her to her feet.

"Jean-Luc!" His hands were on her shoulders as she stood finally and faced him. She had another chance. She would not let herself waste another moment. She would do it. Now, before she lost her nerve, before the moment passed her by, she would do it.

He stiffened in her arms at first as she pressed her lips firmly to his. Uncertainty radiated from him as though it were some tangible part of him. She brought her hands to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, willing him begging him to kiss her back.

And finally, he did. He softened and pulled her against himself. His lips parted slightly, allowing hers to slip between, around his own. She was no longer kissing him-they were kissing one another. In front of Geordi and Wesley and the Traveler and God only knew who else, they were kissing one another. _And_, Beverly thought, _it was wonderful_. There was certainly nothing here to fear.


End file.
